Johnlock: Starry Nights
by TheSherlockedDoctorReturns
Summary: After three years of waiting, John still misses Sherlock. He goes to visit his grave again.
1. Chapter 1

It had been about three years since the suicide of the "Fake Genius" Sherlock Holmes. Nobody really cared anymore. You never heard people say his name anymore, and his picture was never in the paper. There were a small amount of people who even remembered him. He hadn't had many friends, and nobody had been so terribly upset. It was only the death of someone that they had known. Nothing special. But sitting in an old armchair, in front of the fireplace with the skull on it, sat one man staring into the fire. He often though of Sherlock. It was rare for him to not be thinking of Sherlock. This man was John Watson. He would sit for hours in Sherlocks old coat, hugging his old violin. But no matter how many people tried to convince him that Sherlock was not real, he still believed. He knew Sherlock was dead. But he often said that nobody could convince him that Sherlock was a fake. He was a loyal friend to Sherlock. After his death, John's limp had become a pain again, and the tremor was back in his hand. The funeral had passed in silence for John. He had stood looking at the body of Sherlock for four hours. There weren't many people at the funeral. It had been John, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, Donovan, and Anderson. At the funeral, Anderson has made a snide remark about Sherlock. John had not hesitated in attacking him the very next time he saw him. Had Anderson thought he would not have heard that? Then, at Mycroft's request, left John alone at Sherlocks side. He hadn't said anything then. But he had visited the grave everyday after that for two months. But why? What was he wishing for? Another miracle? He had asked him on another visit. Nothing changed. Now he only visited occasionally.

As night fell, John looked out the window. It was still a little light outside. He put on his coat and went to buy some flowers. Mrs. Hudson was not in, so he called a cab and went to visit Sherlock.

It was a little chilly, and the ground was hard as the leaves crunched under his shoes as he walked to Sherlock's grave. He replaced the old flowers with the new flowers. He tried hard not to cry. But it was so hard. John took a deep breath. The street was quiet, and nobody was watching him. That was good. It helped him to mentally prepare for what he was about to say.

John walked over to the headstone and sat down next to it. He played with the blue scarf around his neck. It had been Sherlocks at one point. But John had started to use it. After a few moments of silence, he started talking to Sherlock. "Well Sherlock. It has been a while. I don't suppose if you were alive you would remember anyway, but today is my birthday. I came because I need to tell you something. It is very important. And if you get mad, you can forgive me because its my birthday." At this point John leaned his head against the black stone. "I miss you more then anything Sherlock. You were annoying, but I liked it. Why can't you be here to smile at me? I love the way you smile, and how your hair looks. I wish you were here with me Sherlock. You always took care of me no matter what. Like that violin playing whenever I was having nightmares? Yes. I did know the reason you played so early in the morning. I'm sure it was obvious to you, how I felt about you. I just never got the chance to tell you while you were alive. I love you Sherlock. I don't think that the feeling was mutual, but I just wanted to tell you how much I miss and love you Sherlock."

John stopped talking and sat there as his voice cracked. He closed his eyes, and though of Sherlock, and of all the times that they had had together. He didn't notice the tops of somebody's footprint were they had obviously kneeled down. Neither did he notice the recorder they had been placed in the dirt by this same person. If he had, he would have at once suspected Mycroft.

As John sat at the grave, a pair of long legs with black pants and black shoes walked down Baker Street and put a letter with no return address on the doorstep of the house marked 221B. There was a swish of black as the man got into a cab and drove away.

When John came home later, he picked up the letter and went up to the flat. He looked at the letter. He wasn't accustom to receiving letters like this. He sat down and took a closer look at it. When he opened it, a picture fell out. It was of him and Sherlock smiling together without a care in the world. Who would have sent him a picture like this? A tear rolled down John's cheek. He read the card. It was a simple message. "Happy Birthday Doctor John Watson." There was so etching odd about the card though. It seemed so familiar. The smell. It smelled so good. And something about the writing was bothering him. Then he realized what it was. The handwriting was Sherlocks and the card smelled like him. But that was impossible. Sherlock was dead. That was what John told himself to stay calm. But his heart was already racing. He turned the card over, hands shaking more then ever now. In the bottom left hand corner was a yellow smiley face. Exactly like the one Sherlock had drawn on the wall all those years ago


	2. Chapter 2

It would be way to much for John to hope for that Sherlock was back. But it kindled something in him that had been lost for awhile. Hope. He started to hope again. If Sherlock really was alive, why hadn't he come back? Would he leave more clues?  
John had a restless night that night. He lay awake in Skerlock's bed, trying to figure out what was happening, as he listened to the rain. He had started to hate rain. The reason being, it had rained on the day Sherlock had died. His heart almost stopped when he heard the downstairs door open. Sherlock! He had come back for him after all! But then he heard Mrs. Hudson's voice. It was just her returning. John decided to go visit Sherlock's grave again. When at 5:00 am, he realized he wasn't going to get anymore sleep, he got dressed and walked to the cemetery in the early morning light. There was a nice breeze, and everything was a little damp. As John needed the grave, he lowered his head. He saw a footprint. His footprint? No. They were to big. John looked at the grave. The flowers were gone! This time John looked at the grave very carefully. It's what Sherlock would have done. He knelt down and ran his hands carefully across the dirt around and on top of the grave. His left hand suddenly felt a little piece of what he thought was plastic. He dug it out of the ground and dusted it off. It hadn't been hard to pull out. So it hadn't been there long. There were a few scrabble marks in the dirt. The recorder had been moved. The only question was, who had put it there? Sherlock? If so, why? Now could he draw Sherlock out? And just in case Sherlock was somehow listening, or if he would come back to check the recorder, he whispered "Come back to me Sherlock."But he didn't need the voice recorded for Sherlock to know what he had said. He went home and sat by the fire to think. He went over everything in his head. He had learned to take details in. He had even practiced with his mind palace, and was starting to get rather good. All the things Sherlock had told him around his death.  
"...so all he has to do to complete his plan..." He had then gone to The hospital. Who would have been there? Molly. That was it. But why had Sherlock needed to see Molly? Could he talk to her to find out? It didn't make sense though. Why would he ask Molly for help and not him? He thought about it as he got a cab and went to the hospital.  
When he finally got to see Molly and talk to her alone, she seemed a little flustered. That could have just been her.  
"So. Molly Hooper. How have you been?"  
"G-Good. Thank you John. Why are you-?"  
Before she had time to finish, he cut her off. "Let me get straight to the point of my visit. What have you heard from Sherlock?" His question knocked the feeble smile right off of her face. She went even whiter. "W-What? I-I'm sorry John, but I really don't know what you mean by that!" "Oh, you know, how he is still alive. Why hasn't he spoken with me yet? I'm going to have a bone to pick with him when he shows up?" She started to look really nervous then. "John. I don't know how to put this, but Sherlock is most definitely dead. I thought you were over it now." John couldn't tell if she was lying, but he was starting to get pretty scared, because it sure as hell didn't seem like she was lying.  
"NO HE'S NOT DEAS MOLLY! HE'S NOT DEAD AND IM NOT OK!"  
Molly seemed to shrink. "I'm sorry John. I can't tell you!"  
"So! What did he tell you that you can't tell me? TELL ME!"  
The pair of them were almost in years at this point. "I meant I can't tell you anything! I mean I don't know! John! He didn't tell me anything! He just died! He never cared about me anyway!" John just gave her his look of death and stormed out of the room.  
He went home and cried till he heard a knock on the door. Mrs. Hudson answered it. "John! There's a letter for you!" She brought it up to him. When she saw that he was having one of his moments, she stopped herself from asking him if he wanted tea and left quickly. This letter was typed, and read as follows.  
Dr. Watson,  
I know how hard it has been for you without Sherlock Holmes. He must have broken that little heart of yours when he jumped. Was there a crunch when he hit the ground? I hope so. I would love to have seen your face! Unfortunately I was already dead. That narrows you options down quite a bit! Either I'm Jim Moriarty or Sherlock Holmes. I just though I'd tell you that Sherlock died to save your life. You will never see him again, unless you come to the same roof off of which Sherlock jumped. You will do the same if you come. Here are some of the options you have.  
1. Continue living as you are and suffer for the rest of your life without him.  
2. Come to the roof and jump off to end it all. A. If he is alive it will prove you love him, or B if he is alive and I am keeping him hostage, your jumping will result in him not dying.  
Those are your choices. If your answer is yes, and you will meet me to jump of the roof top party top of the world, then turn all of the lights in your flat out. If not, leave them on. You until 9:00pm to decide. If you decide to come, meet there at 1:00am.  
Goodbye Mr. Watson  
P.S. Don't be scared falling is just like flying, but with one permanent destination. John Watson, I've got you!  
John re-read the letter several times, even though what the letter was stating was perfectly obvious. It had to be Jim Moriarity. It was his sense of humor.  
It was 7:00pm. John had two hours to decide. He sat in front of the fireplace. He had his mind made up in ten minutes, but he sat there for a while anyway. Then he got up to write his suicide note. He didn't bother writing a will. Sherlock hadn't. His lights were out at 9:00? But he kept the fireplace on.  
What John didn't realize was he was now a hero. But Sherlock had once told him heroes didn't exist. But John looked up to Sherlock. This it what Sherlock had done, and so would he.  
At 9:00pm he visited Sherlocks grave to say goodbye.  
"Goodbye my dear Sherlock. I fear that we will not see each other in this life again. But I hope to see you very soon, up there in heaven. Or maybe it's down there. But it doesn't matter as long as I'm with you."  
When he returned home, he ate a little bit of food and drank some wine. Then he went to the box of Sherlocks stuff. He pulled out the black shirt, jacket, pants, and shoes. When he woke Mrs. Hudson up at 10:50pm, she wasn't very happy to hear him ask her to tailor the clothes to fit him. She thought it an odd request, but seeing the look on his face, she did it. She was very fast. The pants just needed the ends sowed up, and the shirt and jacket needed the sleeves fixed. She was done at 12:40pm. Surprisingly fast. Then she went back to sleep. John put on all of Sherlocks clothes, that now fitted him. Threw the trench coat on, put on a pair of his own black shoes, because Sherlock's were to big, plucked a note on his violin, stuffed a gun in his back pocket, even though he was prepared to die for Sherlock. He left the flat for the last time, and got a cab. He arrived at the hospital at one. He climbed up the stairs, very calmly, then opened the door to the roof, and stepped outside, in the chilly morning air, with just the tiniest bit of sunlight to light the roof.


	3. Chapter 3

John saw a figure sitting on the edge of the building. He approached him slowly. "Was this how Sherlock had felt when he went up against Moriarty?"  
When John was at the edge of the roof, the figure spoke. "So here you are. Dressed up like Sherlock. Isn't that dramatic" John looked into the face of Moriarty. He was wearing a puffy coat, and had his hood up. "I would love to explain the circumstances, but I think you know them." Moriarty smirked. John looked out at the fading starry night. "I'm not that stupid" was the gruff reply.  
"Just out of curiosity, but why are you jumping?"  
"You know why."  
"Yes, I do know. But I want to make you say it."  
John laughed. "I'm about to kill myself anyway. So why would I tell you?"  
"Well maybe because its the last chance you will ever have to say it."  
John stepped up on the ledge. "Give me a minute of privacy so I can say it." Then Moriarty started to laugh. "That's what old Sherlock said! He thought he could beat me. But he couldn't."  
"Tell me. Is he alive. Am I saving his life?"  
"Yes. Maybe. Possibly." John inhaled a great breath before he said his last words.  
"I'm really sorry it had to end like this Sherlock." He no longer cared that Moriarty was watching. "I had so much fun with you even though you were an annoying dick head. You made my life so much better in the short time that we had together. I just wish I could see you again. And, seeing as it is my last time to say it. Sherlock Holmes, I love you."  
John closed his eyes, and raised is arms just as he had seen Sherlock do. As he was about to fall, strong arms pulled him down from the ledge, and lips sweeter then honey kissed his.  
"And I love you my little blogger. John Watson, I have missed you more then I have ever missed anybody. I want you to stay with me forever. And I promise I'll never hurt you again. And by the way. I love the outfit."  
He kissed John again and held the now trembling and sobbing John in his arms.


End file.
